Shards
by Silver Vox
Summary: Ten people Echizen Ryoma never loved.


Shards

Osakada Tomoka:

She's as brash and loud at 16 as she was at 12.

You don't know whether it's a moment of weakness or a moment of insanity that makes you stand still and do nothing when she presser her body to yours, arms that are far too soft winding about your neck like a noose. Her mouth is firm on yours. She tastes of something fruity and artificial.

She still calls you Ryoma-sama.

It takes a while for it to register that you lost your first kiss to a girl whose name you can't even remember. It doesn't matter who it is, not anymore, but you feel vaguely sick anyway.

It happens again and again, and it's definitely insanity now. You never actively participate in these encounters, nor do you resist when she molds herself to your side or draws you into kisses that always leave you unmoved. You don't know you're allowing this and you certainly don't know why she's continuing this when you never give anything back except stony silence.

She's the one who leaves, two long months later, and her _Goodbye, Ryoma_ is the most genuine thing she's ever said to you.

You still don't say anything.

Momoshiro Takeshi:

You know that he loves you. He knows that you don't particularly care.

He's still the closest friend you have, which isn't saying much, but is important enough that you spare a few seconds of concern for ruined friendship before you lean over to press your mouths together. It's brief, barely a touch, and Momo's mouth hangs open unattractively after you pull away. Second time's better. Momo apparently recovers his wits enough to participate, lips moving tentatively against yours. It's still awkward and you both fumble through it but you nonetheless feel that satisfaction of a successful experiment, almost though not _quite_ as fun as perfecting a new serve.

Momo doesn't taste like much of anything. You like this much better.

"Nothing's changed," You tell him the first time you have sex. Because you may be a brat and also something of a jerk but even you're not cruel enough to give false hope, not to Momo.

Momo's answering smile is the same one he often sports these days, pain trying to masquerade as cheer.

You fuck him the night before he graduates high school. It's the last time and an apt allegory for what you did to him.

Ryuzaki Sakuno:

Not everything that happens in your life is your father's fault but most of it _is_.

Exactly how your date with Ryuzaki came about is unclear still, particularly since it's nearly over before you realize you're on a date, but it is most certainly the old man's doing. The second date is mostly on you, though it's even less clear how that came about. The last human contact you've had outside of tennis is with Momo, who's been gone for weeks, but you refuse to admit that you're lonely.

Ryuzaki is a poor substitute. She's quiet but never holds your eye and there are only so many _Ryoma-kuns_ you can endure per day. You never touch her, not even to hold hands, and it's easy to ignore the way she stares hopefully at you when she thinks you can't see.

These dates feel like stale rituals.

It takes several weeks, Kirihara, one drawn out match and an ill-thought-out round of furious bathroom sex for you to realize that girls really aren't for you. You break up with her the next day. She doesn't cry but her eyes are wide and lost the whole time.

Breaking her heart is the only kindness you show her.

Kirihara Akaya:

He's a good opponent but you always win, and your matches always end with less clothes and far more bruises than either of you started with.

In a way, he brings out the worst in you.

Sharp jibes and biting mockery are nothing new. Yet, you find yourself affected more often than not, sometimes in ways that have nothing to do with the words being said. It's frustrating, the way he gets under your skin, but you can admit to yourself that there's a certain appeal to it too.

Akaya seems to consider those moments when your mask of indifference slips as personal achievements. You take some solace in wiping the smug smile off his face. You also enjoy, maybe more than you should, the bruises, bite marks and bleeding crescents on his skin at the end of each encounter. But you figure it's alright since sentiment is echoed in his devil's smile.

There are fleeting moments though when his eyes are softer than they should be and his smile against your skin is not a mocking sneer. You don't like those moments but in the end it's okay because the two of you part ways long before they can become frequent.

Atobe Keigo:

He is perhaps the calmest tragedy.

Calm isn't a word that really fits the Monkey King, insufferable ass that he is, but then, Atobe has never quite fit within your expectations. In tennis, that's annoying and exhilarating but outside of chain-link fences, it's only disconcerting. Still, a lot is the same. You snark and snarl at each other, insults exchanged like casual blows whenever you're together. It's a lot like the tennis you play, exhausting but ultimately satisfying. Unsurprisingly, the sex is much the same.

And if there are occasional moments of silence that are far too heavy with words neither of you are willing to say, it's as it should be. You've never been one for words and Atobe has always known to be silent when needed.

 _Liking_ Atobe, rather than tolerating him, is unplanned and unwanted but you've long since learned to accept harsh truths as part and parcel of life. Neither of you ever try for anything more than what you have and neither of you fight when even that dissolves into nothing.

He and you meet as enemies, part as friends, and somewhere in between, you draw comfort from the shadow of another present in each other's eyes.

Kevin Smith:

It starts out simple and promptly goes downhill.

Kevin is a near constant presence by your side after you return to the US for good – there's nothing keeping you in Japan anymore. He's arrogant and boisterous, and tends to hang all over you at the first opportunity. You kiss him because that's the easiest thing to do. It's no surprise that he reciprocates readily.

It doesn't take long to get used to him. You've endured far worse and his tennis is worth the minor annoyances.

The warning signs begin with the dates that you don't recognize as such; you've always been easy when food's involved. You don't quite recognize the danger until fast food joints turn into high-class restaurants with candles and more tableware than either of you know what to do with. That's when you see the looks, awkward and hopeful, that's almost always accompanied by flushed cheeks.

It's your first time with someone who believes your tryst to be a bona fide relationship and you're not quite certain what to do.

So you run at the first hint of the word 'love' and burn that particular bridge with a muttered apology over the phone.

Yukimura Seiichi:

Sometimes he looks so fragile, like he'd fade away at a touch.

But you see him as he is; a monster worthy of respect. The years haven't changed him. He's still as soft-spoken outside the court and just as ruthless inside of it. Yukimura in the bedroom is a lot like Yukimura on the court. He doesn't steal away your senses but you're left in a remarkably similar state by the time he's done with you.

Why it even lasts past that single night is anyone's guess but that doesn't stop you from responding to his subtle invitations or from extending far less covert invitations of your own.

His kisses always start out gentle but by the time you part, your mouths are torn and bloodied. It almost feels like it's the animosity of your rivalry rather than the amiability of your casual interactions that carries over to the sex. You're well aware that the two of you are too similar in all the wrong ways for any of this to be a good idea but reason fades to nothing when faced with the reality of him.

It's a mistake from beginning to end but afterwards, you miss him anyway.

Fuji Shusuke:

The thing about Fuji is that you can drown in him.

He has empty smiles and empty eyes, and there was a time when he unnerved you. Now you know that the emptiness is deceptive, full of thorns and needles that could tear you apart if you're not careful.

You're never careful.

He likes to taunt you, with private words and feather-light touches, poking and prodding at wounds old and new until you give up, pin him to the wall, the bed, the floor, and wipes away his smile, swallows his words. This is the game you play and you are always the loser. Maybe that's why you always return. But you manage to keep you head above water each and every time. Maybe that's why he always returns.

But in the end, he's just a summer fling, if a word so casual can even be associated with someone like Fuji Shusuke.

You say his name just once; whispers it into his mouth as you pull away from your last kiss. Shusuke looks back at you with blue eyes wide open, nothing but your face etched in their depths.

He watches you walk away without a word, smiling that same old smile.

Tokugawa Kazuya:

You meet him on the pro circuit.

He's quiet and intense and reminds you of someone you would rather not be reminded of. You avoid him at first but you never could resist a challenge and his tennis is the greatest challenge you've faced in quite some time. It's addictive, exhilarating, and a much needed reminder that you can still grow, still _fly_.

And in the incomparable intimacy crafted by two rackets and a ball, he seems entirely himself, untainted by the ghosts of your past. Maybe that's why you kiss him after one exhausting game. His mouth is slack with surprise but he lets you do as you please until you're both short of breath. He's smiling when you pull back, cheeks red.

It doesn't end there as it probably should have.

Silence is your language most of the time, though tennis works just as well. His face doesn't show much but he has this way of looking at you, with wide eyes and the barest of smiles, that makes you feel like you're the only one in the world. It's all a little too familiar.

He's the sweetest lover you've had and perhaps, in another life, you would have stayed.

Sanada Genichirou:

The years have softened him, somewhat.

He's taller, scowls far less and – this is the first thing you notice upon seeing him again after over a decade – as he's grown out his hair halfway down his back. It suits him, oddly enough.

You don't really know how a chance encounter turns into regular meetings but it's not like you have anything much to do these days. Neither does Sanada, if the dull sheen that often colors his eyes is any indication. Sometimes, you play tennis but an old and never quite healed knee hampers him and for you, the game has lost most its magic with the dearth of stronger opponents to conquer.

The way your relationship evolves from food, games and quiet conversation to kisses and soft beds is natural, comfortable and utterly undemanding.

It's also transient at best, because you're still more friends than lovers and mostly just two men who try, often in vain, to fill that ever growing void of emptiness in your lives. Someday, Sanada will meet someone, or find someone whom he's already met, and he'll fall in love and have the family he clearly longs for.

That's fine.

Nothing of the sort will ever happen to you but you're fine with that too.

 _Of one thing, you're certain: had he been here, tennis would never have become boring._

Tezuka Kunimitsu dies at 16. An accident, unfortunate but unremarkable. Just another statistic.

The two of you never dated, never kissed, never moved beyond long glances and lingering touches. None of that was important when tennis said more than words ever could.

You remember the way he played; each serve, each point burning into your skin and deeper until all you could see, would see, ever wanted to see was Tezuka. You also remember how he looked at you, not as if you were the only one in the world but as if you _were_ the world.

All you have left of him is a pair of glasses that Fuji gave you on the day of the funeral. One lens is cracked from when you threw it, still in its case, against the wall in a fit of rage. There are days when it's the only thing that keeps you sane.

You've never really thought he was perfect, not even when you were twelve and looked at him with stars in your eyes. His ghost in your heart isn't perfect either but-

You still love him. And you miss him.


End file.
